


give me a taste of what it's like to be next to you

by gdgdbaby



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, F/M, Mile High Club, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: On the flight to Atlanta, they wrangle seats next to each other in a row near the back—what Tommy likes to call the Golden Corral section of the plane, because he's a goddamn nerd.





	give me a taste of what it's like to be next to you

**Author's Note:**

> title from "hands to myself" by selena gomez. as always, thanks to winterfold for looking this over.

On the flight to Atlanta, they wrangle seats next to each other in a row near the back—what Tommy likes to call the Golden Corral section of the plane, because he's a goddamn nerd. Priyanka generally prefers taking the window seat and napping through flights, so she doesn't mind; it doesn't matter where they sit. She passes out while they're still taxiing on the tarmac at LAX before takeoff.

They're in the air when she comes to, head fuzzy, slightly disoriented. It takes her a moment to register the velvet blanket around her shoulders and—fuck, the big, broad hand tucked inside the waistband of her yoga pants. Tommy isn't even doing anything yet, just cupping her through her underwear. It's still enough to wake her all the way up, enough to make prickling heat spread out from where he's touching to tingle in her belly.

The plane jostles in the air; Tommy's fingers sway back and forth, a tease. She shifts a little in her seat, keeps her breathing stable, and tries not to squeeze her thighs around his hand. Maintaining the illusion of sleep is always fun, especially if there are other people around. It makes Tommy try harder to make her break. He's very motivated, and he's gotten close, but it hasn't happened yet.

Her ears are kind of stuffed, but she can still hear the rumble of the engines and the air cycling through the cabin, the loud flush of the toilet in the lavatory as it goes off behind them. She swallows slowly, trying to get them to pop, as Tommy sets his fingers firmer against her cunt through the thin material of her panties.

It's not the pressure that makes her start to get wet so much as it is the situation—she's trapped, kind of sagged against the window, and Elisa's sitting on Tommy's other side, in the aisle seat. Priyanka lets her eyes slit open just a sliver; Tommy's angled in a way that doesn't make it obvious what they're doing, but Elisa's on her laptop, so. It would be better for everyone involved if she kept as quiet as possible.

Tommy rocks his fingers back and forth against the line of her pussy, just enough pressure to keep her present, anchored in the moment, but not enough to get her off yet. She can't quite tell how long he keeps that up, time oozing to a standstill, but at some point she hears the PA system go on, the soothing voice of a flight attendant talking about the seatbelt sign being turned off because the turbulence has passed. It dings, and Tommy shifts as Elisa gets up, ostensibly to go to the bathroom. The press of Tommy's fingers eases off for a moment, and then he's nudging the crotch of her panties to one side so he can drag his fingers through the wetness starting to gather.

Priyanka spreads her legs a little wider, and Tommy clears his throat next to her; he's noticed, then, that she's awake. She slides her eyes shut again anyway, sinking further back into her seat, hair staticky against the headrest.

Tommy rests the heel of his hand just above her clit and slides one finger deep into her. Priyanka keeps the rest of her body purposely relaxed, breath still as even as she can manage it, but she lets her left foot nudge against the wall. Under the blanket, her fingers dig into the cushion beneath her ass. Tommy slides his finger halfway out and then in again, palm brushing against her clit, rolling his hand in a broad circle. Priyanka wants to push up against it, wants him to go faster, but she—she's supposed to be asleep right now. She can handle it, she can—

"Hey," comes a low voice: Travis's, over the back of his chair, the one right in front of Elisa's. "Lovett wanted me to run a couple of the game answers for tomorrow's show by you. Can we chat now? It'll only take a minute."

"Yeah, sure," Tommy says, voice perfectly level. "Shoot." Priyanka doesn't know how the hell he sounds so normal, but it's probably something he picked up when he was working at the NSC. The lights are low enough in the main cabin that Travis probably can't tell whether or not he's even blushing.

Tommy doesn't stop, is the thing. He doesn't go any faster either, just keeps circling his hand and dipping his finger in and out, until Priyanka's hips are twitching and her heart feels like it's going to leap from throat. Tommy and Travis are still saying things over the low murmur of the plane, but she can barely keep herself together, let alone process whatever it is they're talking about. She squeezes her fingers tighter around the edge of her seat and shifts against the window, has to bite back a gasp when Tommy curls two fingers inside her and brings his thumb around to rub against her clit, more insistent now.

It's good the ambient noise is so loud. If it were any quieter, Priyanka's sure everyone around them would be able to hear how drenched she is, the slick squelch of Tommy's hand against her cunt.

Priyanka flexes her toes, hopes she doesn't get a damn cramp from how tense she is, trying to hold still. Tommy twists his fingers and says something else, something about how long Elisa took in the bathroom. Elisa complains about the line. Tommy chuckles, shoulder pressing in against Priyanka's beneath the blanket, so she can feel the rumble of his laugh as his fingers slip deeper. Priyanka's stomach tightens, her thighs trembling.

She tries to exhale, slow and easy. Halfway through the breath, Tommy manages to fit three fingers inside her, and she closes her legs around his hand, can't quite control the way her hips buck. When she cracks an eye open again, Travis has returned to his own seat, and Elisa's got an eye mask strapped over her face. Fuck. Thank God.

Tommy's glancing sideways at her, and he grins when she meets his eyes. "Close?" he murmurs, leaning in so she's the only one who can hear him ask, and Priyanka closes her eyes, swallows, nods. "Okay," he says, fucking into her shallowly, thumb fluttering over her clit, two light presses to one harder grind, rhythm steady and inexorable. "Come on, Pri."

Her back arches as she comes. He keeps going, doesn't let up at all through the aftershocks of her first orgasm, flexing his fingers and forcing a second that makes her sag against her seat, breathing out raggedly. Sweat is starting to bead along her hairline, and she shivers as he eases the rocking of his hand, retracts it slowly, pets her once, twice, three times before he finally pulls his arm out from underneath the blanket.

She opens her eyes. Tommy's hand is fucking glistening in the low light of the cabin. He catches her gaze and—Jesus Christ, slides his fingers into his mouth, licks them clean. She'd be proud of how filthy that is if she weren't trying so hard to modulate her breathing.

"Oh my god," she mutters, voice pitched low. "My underwear is a fucking mess."

"Should've brought a fresh pair in your carry-on," Tommy says, too smug by half.

Priyanka squirms, the damp material of her panties dragging between her legs. She just has to catch her breath. Then she'll figure out how to get him back.

 

 

She gets her chance on the van ride from Atlanta to Nashville. It's early Friday morning, everyone else dozed off in their seats for the four hour drive north, and they're sitting in the last row. Tommy's head is tipped back, mouth hanging open, pale lashes soft against his cheeks. Even asleep he's manspreading, of course he is, the crotch of his sweatpants stretched tight over his dick. What a roadtrip cliche.

Priyanka takes a quick look around the rest of the vehicle before she scootches over and slides a hand underneath the hem of Tommy's shirt, palm pressing flat against the grooves of his abdomen for a moment. He'd laughed the first time she called him an Abercrombie and Fitch model, said Favreau probably fit that bill better. "You're right," she'd replied, straight-faced, eyes wide and assessing. "You're more of a Vineyard Vines guy, huh?"

They've been doing this long enough that she knows what to do to get him hard, knows he likes it when she plays with the head of his dick, runs her fingers down the vein underneath the shaft. Up front, their van driver Caitlyn merges to the left lane to pass a car; outside, fast food signs and billboards proclaiming the end of days hurtle by. They'll probably be pulling off the highway for a break soon, at some rest stop off 75. Maybe, if she's fast enough, she can get Tommy off before that happens.

Priyanka can tell when he wakes up, because he goes rigid, and then, after a moment's hesitation, his left hand closes briefly around her wrist. "Whoa," he says, a half-whisper, voice scratchy.

"If you keep it down, we won't get caught," she murmurs, grinning when Tommy opens his eyes, his forehead wrinkling. "Didn't think I'd let you have all the fun, did you?"

He cracks a smile at that, the same smile he gives her after he's emailed her a particularly dumb pun for the newsletter and she lifts her head to shake it at him from across the office. "Morning to you, too," he says, lifting his hips into the circle of her grip, his right hand reaching out to brace against the cup holder. "Better make it quick."

She rolls her eyes but picks up the pace, jacking him to full hardness inside his underwear. He spreads his legs wider, one thigh bumping against her knee, and tilts his head back, throat bobbing as he swallows. The friction is a little too dry; when she tightens her hand, he hisses, rising a little off his seat.

Near the front of the van, Elijah stirs before settling back down, repositioning himself against the windowpane. Priyanka thinks for a minute, wrist twisting as she moves her palm over the head of Tommy's erection, and then she pulls him out past the waistband of his underwear, his sweatpants, bends fluidly forward, hair falling into her face. Fits her lips around the pink tip of Tommy's cock as her hand keeps moving, inching forward so that just her mouth is full, letting saliva drip down the shaft. Sucks, just a little, tasting the slight tinge of salt on her tongue. "Oh, fuck," Tommy gasps, and when she sits up again, he's biting into the meat of his hand.

 _Good_ , Priyanka thinks, smoothing her hair back, and squeezes her hand tighter. Tommy's almost firetruck red, trying so hard not to make a sound, and Priyanka can't help leaning up to kiss his cheek, smiling at the heat radiating off him in waves, the tightly coiled tension in his body. Coming into this job, Priyanka hadn't exactly expected to be fooling around with one of her hot bosses. Now that it's happened, though—she's not mad about it. Tommy's fun, and nerdy, and stealth hilarious. In this, as in all things, he loves rising to the occasion.

She twists her hand one more time, palm sliding up the length of his cock, and then he's coming, dribbling down her knuckles. She manages to catch most of it so he doesn't make a mess all over his own travel clothing, but a spot of it still gets on the hem of his shirt. She jerks him through it, until it's too much, and then jerks him some more, watches his mouth drop open, breath rattling out of him.

He grabs her wrist; instead of pushing her hand away, though, he pulls it up toward—toward his mouth, and the way he looks at her when he licks her hand clean makes a dull ache pound between her legs. Fuck. Maybe she should've expected it after what they did on the plane, but every time she thinks she knows what this is, what they're doing, who he is, he manages to surprise her.

The van sways as they change lanes again. Priyanka pulls away, slides primly back into her own space, crosses her ankles. Exhales through her nose, hand damp with Tommy's spit. Everyone else in the van is still passed out. The sun's bright overhead through the tinted windows, and they'll be in Nashville before lunch. She feels reckless and wild and good, adrenaline zipping through her veins. Maybe she'll pull Tommy into the laundry room at the hotel tonight, really give him a run for his money.

"Glad you came on tour with us," Tommy murmurs, stretching his legs out, irrepressible.

Priyanka laughs under her breath, shakes her head. "Yeah," she says. "So am I."

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/priaribi/status/1009528030572580864) and [this](http://lucy-vanpelt.tumblr.com/post/175115251278). [here](https://twitter.com/TVietor08/status/865301297762783232)'s tommy calling the back of the plane the golden corral.


End file.
